And It Was All Yellow
by presleyhenderson
Summary: He's a painter with a dream to sing; he's a Texan with a thing for meddling in other people's business. Kendall and Logan CANNOT stand each other. Until Logan finds Kendall's journal. rps!Kogan. AU.
1. Prologue

**Well hello. This is my feeble attempt at an author's note.**

**And It Was All Yellow is about two adults, Kendall Schmidt and Logan Henderson, who are forced to become room mates under the conditions that Logan needs an apartment to live in and Kendall needs some cash, bad. Both aspire to become big shots but neither are anywhere near, and they only become further away when they begin to get frequently annoyed by each other's... existence. Kendall's a painter, but he just wants to sing his heart out for a big crowd. Logan's lonely and insecure, but his only desire is to become a graphic designer and publicist to the stars. That's when Logan stumbles upon Kendall's childhood photo albums and journals, and stuff gets serious.**

**This is just the prologue so yeah.**

**Rated K+ for language even though I think that rating this is useless. Thanks (no, seriously, you're a lifesaver) to Gina (capricesquire) for helping me out with this. I hope you like it and leave... reviews... and stuff. :)**

* * *

><p><em>10.00am<em>,_ Tuesday, Kendall's apartment_

The floor was splashed in various colors; from red to black to green to a sickly grey that seemed as though all the colors of the rainbow had been stirred together with filthy water. Pieces of cardboard in an array of sizes lay strewn on the floor or placed to lean against the wall. About five easels, some lying sadly on the ground, camouflaged beneath all that paint, another one standing in the corner unused and neglected, and one more, proud in the center, with a large piece of paper on it and an artist in front of it.

That artist wasn't in a typical beret and sweater, biting his lip before delicately planning his next move on his canvas to paint his thoughts and feelings on and speaking in an unusually stressed French accent. If anything, this artist had only been awake for two hours, was running on half a cup of cold coffee and a three day old bagel, and couldn't even be bothered to put a shirt on before randomly flicking paint at his easel, smiling whenever even a bit of it made contact with his actual masterpiece. The lack of an apron in his warehouse-like apartment and his refusal to wear a shirt resulted in streaks of acrylic paint across his hip, down his chest, and even across his face.

Kendall Schmidt. That was the name of the… 'talented, mysterious artist'.

* * *

><p>Smirking, his already existent dimple deepens and Kendall playfully dabs a little black paint across either cheek and on his nose, scrunching it. Pulling his jeans up and trying to ignore his painfully present morning breath, he dips a small brush into his rapidly decreasing container of blue paint, swirls it around, and runs a straight line down the middle of his canvas, biting his lip in faint sadness when the paint runs out before he reaches the bottom. But then he shrugs and throws his brush in the air, failing to catch it.<p>

"I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, but people seem to think my art's deep and they'd pay to keep it up on their wall so I guess I'll keep screwing them over," Kendall murmurs to himself, in a singsong motion. Without cleaning his brushes or pouring the used water out of the containers, he walks over to his kitchen and pulls open the refrigerator, scanning for anything worth eating.

A half-eaten piece of chicken, expired carton of milk, and a bottle of beer, that Dustin never bothered to take back with him.

Kendall hasn't gone to the supermarket in forever. Fuck that, he hasn't left the apartment in forever. Sighing in defeat, he slams the refrigerator door shut and rests his forehead against it. _My life really can__**not **__suck more than this._ He's been living in New York for more than a year, his dream is to sing, but obviously cheating by selling art instead of busking seems to be a faster way of income, albeit boring. Maybe this new roommate will give him enough cash to get a new clean guitar and… maybe some clothes.

The doorbell rings. "Well, there you go."

Taking his time, Kendall exhales deeply before turning so that his back is against the refrigerator. A few long, drawn out seconds pass by with him trying to get his head to stop swimming rapidly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, swallowing hard. Then, he pushes himself off slightly and takes a few long strides to the door, but by then the visitor is already knocking frantically again.

"Jesus Christ, chill," he groans, unlocking the door and pulling it open, unaware of his appearance and the effect it might just have on whoever's there. He's greeted with a pair of hopeful brown doe eyes, a set of perfectly white teeth that blind him, and a smile that gives him a peculiar warm feeling inside that he doesn't want to talk about.

"The fuck are you?" he says, scanning the person up and down. Dressed in a buttoned up shirt tucked into a pair of skinny jeans, and a large suitcase on the floor next to him, and he seems like someone who cares a lot about what kind of first impression he gives. Hardworking, serious, maybe a little bit of an ass kisser, Kendall thinks. He notices the brunette throwing an amused look and licking his lips somewhat subtly at the streaks of paint across his well defined abs, and giggles softly at how painfully obvious the visitor's instant attraction to him is.

"I'm, uh, Logan. Logan Henderson? I'm your new roommate and I'm supposed to move in today," he says, raising his eyebrow at what Kendall can only assume is a judgement of his forgetfulness.

"...Oh."

* * *

><p><strong>Well there you go. I honestly do hope you liked it. If you can, leave me a review! :)<strong>


	2. Swallowed in the Sea

**Ugh, you don't even know how sorry I am that this chapter is so... short. I don't know if it's my attention span, or the fact that I didn't even have access to a computer and had to type all this out on my phone, or something. But I really hope you think it's passable, or that you like it. And maybe leave a review :) I'm still really sorry oh my god****.**

* * *

><p>"So this is… the place?" Logan asks hesitantly, careful not to step on any of the cardboard pieces or easels that covers every inch of the floor. He's appalled that one adult alone can fail to keep at least one room of a house free of paint, let alone clean. His eyes drift towards the paintings up on the walls, which he has to squint to look at. There's one particular piece that catches his eye - it's a few thick black stokes against a white background, set to replicate a skyline. Nothing too detailed, not like he even tried, actually, but Logan knows what skyline it's supposed to be - it's the very one he saw when he walked into New York City.<p>

"Yeah. You get the room second door to the right and I h- dude, why are you walking like the entire floor's on fire?"

"I… I don't wanna step on the mess," Logan says, confused as to why Kendall's giving him a judgemental look and shaking his head slightly. Kendall's green eyes darken and Logan winces at how deathly it seems. Like he doesn't want him there.

"This mess… is my floor."

"R-really. You ever think about finding your actual floor sometime soon?" Logan asks, raising an eyebrow at the smug grin he receives. There's just something about the way that boy looks at him, like he knows he has full control of him. Like Kendall could make him do just whatever he wanted with a few harsh looks. 'I swear to God, if this guy makes me his maid I'm gonna push him off the building.' Logan's a bit unsettled by how predative his expression looks; he should be looking at him more like "hey, I'm excited about you movig in, I can't wait for us to be friends!" but instead it's more like "why do you have to mess up my lone wolf groove, why am I so desperately in need of cash, why are you so annoying". Nonetheless he shakes himself out of that unexplainable little trance he went into staring at Kendall's face and rolls his eyes reactively at his reply.

"Life's too short to be organized."

A forlorn moment passes between them before Kendall speaks again. "Like I said, second door to the right. If you need me, don't. I have to go find a friend. Do not touch my things, stay away from my room. Don't touch my paintings, and if you have food, I welcome food. If you have a shirt, that'd be really appreciated too."

"Are you serious?"

"I really need a shirt."

Logan sighs at Kendall's oddity and bends down to unzip his luggage. He can't help but feel that Kendall's checking out his ass and he tries to push down the pleasure of knowing that they both have an unspoken mutual attraction, and before he can even think about using that knowledge to manipulate Kendall, he pulls out a shirt from the very top of his neatly organized suitcase. It's a blue T-shirt with a giant white treble clef at the bottom, a shirt he never considered special or anything. It was one of those items of closing that were just there when Logan needed something to wear and didn't give a crap what he looked like.

"Here, take it," Logan grunts, throwing the shirt in Kendall's face and watches in amusement as he pulls it off angrily.

"Is this the best you got?"

"Dude, you want a shirt, or not?" Kendall groans and pushes past Logan, pulling on the shirt and slamming the door behind him. And so, Logan is left to unpack, find his way around the apartment and settle down… all alone.

* * *

><p>"Shit, Dustin, shit we have to talk we have to talk we have to talk," Kendall gasps, almost falling over himself as he opens a door and stumbles into wherever his best friend Dustin is. Dustin who's a kindergarten teacher. A kindergarten teacher in the middle of a lesson. Teaching six year old kids.<p>

"Well fuck," he says, looking at the kids sitting cross legged on the floor and staring at him. He should've kept his mouth shut.

"Ooh, you said the f-word!" a blonde kid about three feet tall yells, pointing accusingly at Kendall, as the rest of the students watch with their mouth agape. "Mr Belt, give him a time out!"

Kendall turns to grin sheepishly at Dustin, who's shaking his head at him. "Dude, I really have to talk to you."

Dustin pauses for a moment, his fingers resting on the blackboard, his eyes wide through his black glasses, considering every choice he could pick. Then again, he's halfway through teaching a classroom of 18 unruly toddlers the alphabet, so his choices are really limited.

"Um, kids," Dustin says abruptly, turning to face the children eagerly awaiting his decision, "I'm gonna go give this - " he glares at Kendall, "- misbehaving adult here, a time out far away from here, so you just stay where you are and… colour some rainbows and unicorn and sh- I mean stuff. Austin, you're in charge. Be good." The blond three feet tall kid nods excitedly and stands up.

Dustin holds a firm grip on Kendall's wrist and drags him out of the classroom, but Kendall still has enough time to wink at the kids before he's out of the classroom and looking into Dustin's blazing eyes.

"I. Was. In the. Middle. Of. An. Important. Lesson. You sonofabitch."

Kendall rolls his eyes and dusts himself off, saying, "Whatever, they seem pretty fucking smart anyway. There are more pressing matters at hand. Now come on, give me my time out."

* * *

><p>Kendall and Dustin are standing at the rooftop of the elementary school the latter works at, having Kendall's time out, and Kendall strongly inhales his burning joint once more before speaking.<p>

"So, you know how I told you I was struggling for cash and I decided to get a roommate who'd pay me enough to afford a guitar and anything I needed to get my singing career going on?"

Dustin takes a swig of his beer, finishing it whole, crumples the beer can and throws it over the edge before answering Kendall's question. "Logan Philip Henderson, age 21, from North Richland Hills, Texas. Seeking a roommate in Upper Manhattan, New York City who is responsible and earns enough. I remember."

There's an awkward pause with Kendall wondering why Dustin remembers so much before he says, "He didn't get the roommate he wanted, did he?"

"Nope. Not one bit."

Kendall closes his eyes and relaxes a bit, breathing in the scent of the joint for a moment. "Yeah, well, that Logan kid arrived today -"

"I told you he was coming today."

"- and oh my God, he's annoying as fuck. I kinda just wanna punch him in his fucking face and push him out the window or something."

"What'd he do?"

"Exist! He comes in and he thinks he owns the place when actually, this is _my _apartment. He's just living in it because he's poor and from Texas or some shit like that and he has no idea what he's doing here in the city and of all people to live with he ended up with me and good god he's making me so _flustered _and I don't know what to even do."

Dustin bites his lip to prevent himself from lamenting how worked up his best friend is getting over someone he met about thirty minutes ago. He makes a mental note in his mind – _I gotta meet this Henderson guy._

* * *

><p>Logan winces as he sits down on his constantly creaking bed. His room is tiny, really tiny, and an entire wall is stacked with cardboard boxes labelled as "junk". The lone window next to his bed is dusty and Logan's pretty sure it hasn't been opened in a good while. With a little struggle, he manages to pull his suitcase onto his bed, and the force causes a cartoonish ball of dust to rise from his still squeaking bed. Coughing and waving the dust away rapidly, Logan opens his suitcase with a soft click, and his eyes are greeted with a still intact photo frame, containing a picture of his baby sister Presley.<p>

"I'm never gonna forget you, Prez," he whispers, even though he's the only one in the apartment. He rubs his thumb over the photograph thoughtfully, and cracks a hint of a smile. "Watch me. I'll become big; giant houses with backyards and pools, dogs and cats and parrots, limousines everywhere. I'll give you everything you ever wanted, Prez. But for that, I'm gonna be away for a little while. I'll be back, though. I promise, Presley. I'll come back."

All Logan wants is to become somebody big; for his talents to actually be useful and be the reason someone's dream comes true. He wants to be a life-changer. Growing up in a household where everyone was Christian and strict about things and all his friends suffered some deep troubles at least once... Logan cherished those rare times someone he loved actually gave him an honest smile. To see a smile like that again would be perfect for him, especially when it was a pure stranger. Right now he lived on Presley's constant smiles. Morning, day and night. Logan passed her the cereal - she gave him a smile. She won him in a Wii game - she gave him a smile. He ruffled her hair - she gave him a smile. That little upwards curve of his baby sister's lips was pretty much Logan's fuel to continue doing what he loved.

Logan licks his lips and places the frame on the chest of drawers next to his bed. Slowly, like he has all the time in the world (which, essentially, he does), he starts to place all of his clothes in the drawers, frowning whenever a shirt doesn't fit in the drawer or a sock has to end up with his underwear. Every minute or so his gaze lands on the close-to-toppling-over boxes at the other side of the room. He desperately wants to sift through those boxes and find out what "junk" is supposed to mean, but he knows that if he does Kendall's going to find out one way or another, and he'd like to stay on that guy's good side for at least today.

When he's done unpacking, with just his toiletries left to put in the bathroom soon ('_Do I have my own bathroom? I fucking better_.'), Logan sits down on his bed, ruffling his hair. He wants to go out and experience all that New York is immediately, however his premonition that he might end up lost and found chopped up in the woods the next day isn't helping any bit. Instead he gets up and saunters over to Kendall's boxes and traces his fingers over the little gaps between them.

He badly wants to rip open these boxes and find out what kind of secrets Kendall's hiding; he wants to see if there's any material that he can use against Kendall, to blackmail him with. Something to make him have the upper hand in this unexpected... relationship they're having. Clenching his fingers, he yanks them away from the boxes, and bites the inside of his cheek in thought. _I'm too much of a nice guy. And also I'm not like a murderer or anything, if I looked through Kendall's shit I wouldn't know how to cover up my tracks, now would I? I'm pretty much his bitch._

Logan sighs again.

He's pretty much Kendall's bitch.

* * *

><p><strong>There you go~ If you want you can leave a review in which you tell me if you liked this chapter andor yell at me in caps for writing something so short. **


	3. Fix You

**Sigh. I'm sorry.**

* * *

><p><em>6pm, Tuesday, Kendall (and Logan's) apartment<em>

When Kendall strolls into his apartment, he pauses for a moment to stare around him. He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion and scrutinizes every square foot of his ceiling, walls and floor. It's different. Everything's changed. Everything's different. Because of that fucking Logan kid, he presumes. He can't really pinpoint what's different, though. It's not like the entire position of his apartment shifted. But when he looks closer, he sees a few changes, too small to notice unless you really care about the little things. Which Kendall does.

His paintings are positioned in neat rows and columns. His easels are leaning against a wall and the broken ones are gone. Zilch, zero, nada. And his floor… well his floor's still covered by a shit ton of newspapers but it's considerably less. Logan's completely redesigned the place while he was gone. He taps his fingers impatiently on the marble kitchen countertop and winces as something feels painfully off. Scrutinizing the tips of his fingers, he gasps and his eyes widen comically as he notices the difference - there's no dirt. His kitchentop is perfectly clean, without a single speck of dust. It's the first time he can actually feel how cold the marble is.

"HENDERSON!" his voice echoes through the bare apartment, and he waits, seething in his anger, before the other boy comes bounding out of his room, all smiles. His evident dimples and bright teeth give Kendall that feeling he first had when he saw Logan, the feeling he doesn't want to talk about.

"Yeah!" Logan exclaims, biting his lip and nodding his head enthusiastically. Obviously, he can't seem to notice just how pissed his roommate is. Kendall's anger immediately begins to ebb away upon seeing that boy's smile, that smile that seems to light up the entire room. But he shakes his head furiously, wanting, needing to remain angry so that Logan might finally realize he's top dog in this apartment.

"The fuck have you done with my art space, you asshole?" he grits his teeth, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

"I fixed it."

"No. No, you didn't fix it. You didn't fix anything. In fact, you're just ruining it. You're screwing up the equilibrium of this place. I like everything the way it is and I don't care if you don't. Change your room into a fucking dollhouse for all I care. Just don't try to make this apartment yours because you've been here less than 24 hours, okay?" Kendall lets out a long sigh, thankful for being able to rant all his anger out of his system. But he looks at Logan's pondering, crestfallen face and his own heart breaks a little. Maybe he took it too far with that verbal lashing.

"You need me," Logan then whispers, keeping his eyes on Kendall's shoes.

He's taken aback. The brunette sounds perfectly calm, none too hurt by his words. "Huh?"

"You don't like me, but you know you can't afford to lose me. So you think you'll just abuse me and turn me into your own little slave so that you get all the pros. Because for you, I'm just here to give you money, it's not like I'm struggling to earn it, it's not like I'm all alone here and don't know what I'm doing."

Kendall just stares on, words of apology caught in his throat.

"You didn't give me a warm welcome, I gave you my shirt. You don't want me here, I try to clean up your space a little. I don't have anywhere else to go, Kendall."

Now, he sounds heartbroken.

"I'm sorry it's taken you less than a day to decide you hate me." And he walks back into his room, knocking down a few easels on his way. "Since you like mess," he mumbles.

Kendall watches him disappear around the corner, biting his lip in guilt. It's not that he hates Logan; it's that he just can't get used to him. He spent so long in New York trying to deal with being away from his family in Kansas, all alone without any friends, and his only bright spark was the day he met Dustin. Even until now Dustin was still the only friend he had. The city still frightened him. That's why he spent all his time indoors, painting, dividing his time between flea markets, the apartment, and Dustin's place. He just didn't think it was fair - Logan could come into New York all on his own and assume he'd have Kendall to be his instant tour guide, guiding him whenever the city got too big for a little Texan like him.

It's not fair, Kendall thinks. Logan can get all of this and he still has to struggle on his own? But he knows it's shit logic. He likes Logan, his innocence, his happy-go-lucky persona, how hopeful he seems. He doesn't want New York City to destroy him, take away all his faith and his dreams. He doesn't want New York to turn Logan into... him.

* * *

><p><em>10am, Wednesday, the apartment<em>

Logan twitches his nose and wakes up to the smell of sizzling bacon. He hasn't smelled that since, well, Texas. Confused and a little blurry, he slides out of bed slowly and trudges to the kitchen. He ignores the fact that he's in a blue shirt and striped boxers - "Kendall's gonna see this everyday," - and rubs his eyes roughly upon entering.

Kendall's standing in front of the microwave oven, wearing Logan's shirt from yesterday, and he's using a spatula to flip bacon in a frying pan. On a plate on the island, two cooked eggs lie on top of each other, the yolk a rich yellow, and the egg white in crisp perfection. Two long glasses of pulpy orange juice display Logan's reflection - worn out, tired, possibly puffy eyed from crying. Terrible.

"What's this?" Logan asks, his voice rough from just waking up.

"A little breakfast for you and I. I'm not the best cook in the world, but I figured your first breakfast here in NYC should be… edible."

"You did this for me?" Logan smiles inwardly, a wave of gratitude flooding over him like a tsunami. He might even forgive Kendall for what he said last night now. His eyes focus on the oil hopping on the bacon, but they easily drift to Kendall's hand, so delicate and yet strong, curved around the spatula handle.

"Yeah, you and I. Listen," he said slowly, turning off the stove and setting down the spatula. "I'm sorry… for what I said yesterday. It's just that… I've been pretty alone for a good while. I left my family in Kansas to come here and pursue a dumb dream I had. It's only me and my best friend Dustin, but he's busy almost always. My people skills are rusty."

"Isn't that from-"

"Supernatural, yeah. I don't… know how to feel about you just yet, Logan. I get that we have to get along and everything since we live together now, but just give me a while to think about it."

Logan inspects Kendall's face carefully, taking note of the worried creases on his forehead and the little pout formed by his lips. His green eyes are especially light, the kind you see on fresh leaves in the sunlight. Eyebrows scrunched together as Kendall thinks over what he just said.

"Okay. Thanks for the… breakfast. That was really nice of you." Logan says, unsure of whether to reach for bacon or not. This is the first time he's seen Kendall display some act of kindness to him and he doesn't know how many months, years, they're going to be living together and how grumpy Kendall's going to be on every other day, so he decides to cherish this one moment. He hesitates before looking into Kendall's his eyes and giving him a sincere smile, hoping for some kind of reaction. Anything.

Kendall smiles back, just as sincere as Logan had hoped. Thankful, even. For the company that he has now. Maybe Logan's presence might help change Kendall – he could put on clothes more often, buy more food every now again, clean up his apartment… get himself a new friend.

"Here, try the eggs, I think I cooked them pretty well," Kendall says softly, piling an egg sunny side up onto Logan's plate with his spatula. Logan murmurs a thank you and pokes at the yolk inquisitively.

"How'd you, uh, get the cash for the bacon and eggs and orange juice and everything?" asks Logan, keeping his eyes on his food. He waits for Kendall to stiffen, grit his teeth and throw his fork on the table, saying something like 'I don't want to talk about it' or 'It's none of your fucking business'.

But he doesn't. Instead Kendall chuckles.

"My buddy Dustin fronted me some cash. I have to pay him back, but I actually can't do that until you pay the rent, so… huh. Yeah." They both smirk at each other and Logan shakes his head. _At least Kendall has one good friend_.

"Hey, if you want, I could pay you right now. It's no big deal, I know you need the money and everything," he offers, but Kendall shakes his head furiously, his fringe going haywire and all over his forehead.

"I couldn't make you do that, you don't have to, really. Dustin's a good kid, he'll let me pay when I finally get the money. He's not the type that would stalk me day and night with a knife and threaten for money, including interest. Keep your cash," he says, biting his lip nervously, and Logan has no choice but to keep the rent cash till the end of the month and hope that Kendall won't go broke in a week or so.

"If you say so. But, really, if you need the cash, I'm ready, promise." Kendall smiles at him gratefully.

"Oh, uh, Kendall, also?" Logan inquires quietly, hoping he doesn't ruin Kendall's mood so quickly and mincing every single word he says.

"Yep."

"Can you bring me to a laundromat tomorrow? I have to get all my clothes washed and, you know, I'd probably get fucking lost if I tried to find my way around. "

Kendall bursts out into a loud guffaw, almost choking on his food. He grips the table top and tries to control his laughter, as Logan stares on in amusement. "Sure, I'll bring you, Logan. It's not as far as you think. Just don't drown in the machines."

"Thank you," Logan whispers, licking his lips and smiling to himself. _I have a date at the Laundromat tomorrow with my new room mate, and he doesn't want me to drown? Is that a real hazard, do I have to stand like three feet while my clothes wash? God, why is New York nothing like Texas._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Still sorry.**_  
><em>


	4. Lovers in Japan

**Happy March, thank you so so so fucking much for the reviews, I hope you guys liked Big Time Movie (I haven't seen it yet boohoo) and yes. We have once against established that I am terrible and a procrastinator.**

* * *

><p><em>Lovers, keep on the road you're on<br>Runners, until the race is run  
>Soldiers, you've got to soldier on<br>Sometimes even right is wrong_

* * *

><p><em>2pm, Thursday, laundromat below the apartment<em>

"It's right below the apartment? I thought the first laundromat would be like five miles away!" Logan gasps, squinting at the entrance to the laundromat with the bright pink cursive words, "Challen's Laundromat" on it. Kendall watches him intently and smirks as Logan's eyes widen, drifting towards the side-by-side washing machines with water swirling clockwise in it. The window vibrates gently to the rhythm of the machines.

"Have you never seen a laundromat before?" the blonde asks, astounded, as the older boy cups his hands around his eyes and presses himself against the glass window, looking at the redhead handling money at the counter to the far right. From behind her a wavy-haired brunette girl about his age walks up to the lady and whispers something in her ear. Then, with a smile of gratitude, the lady with the flame-coloured hair retreats to the back of the laundromat and the brunette stands in her position, flashing a thousand-watt smile at a customer.

"We don't have those back in North Richland, we washed everything at home… who's that?" Logan sighs, the glass fogging up from his breath. Kendall glares at him, then at the brunette, and then at Logan again, mouthing an irritated "oh my god". He reaches out to grip Logan's wrist and ignoring his whining, pulls him into the store, ignoring the loud obnoxious chimes too.

He mutters, "Gee, I don't know, let's go in and find out instead of staying outside like a bunch of dicks."

Logan couldn't seriously have a crush on Erin.

"Kendall! Hey!" Erin yells out from the counter as they stand at the entrance, waving. Kendall nods back silently, giving her a half-hearted smile. When she points at Logan with curiosity and a little twitch of the eyebrow, he replies back, "New roommate."

Erin nods her head and grins at Logan welcomingly, her deep brown eyes lighting up and her cheeks growing increasingly rosy, but before he can wave at her she's turned her attention back on her customer.

"So, who is she?" Logan asks with a little dejection, pulling his arm away from Kendall and turning to face him. He rubs his wrist, wincing in pain. Looking into his big eyes, full of hope and escalating interest in Erin, Kendall kind of wants to punch a wall. He's getting that feeling again but he wants to ignore it. The one he's had multiple times the past few days, each time he looks at Logan. The only reason he doesn't want Logan near Erin is to protect him, right?

To protect him.

Kendall grits his teeth. "Erin. She's a neighbour, and she and her aunt run the laundromat. The redhead who went behind is Challen. That's all you need to know." He strides over to the nearest vacant washing machine and sets his basket full of dirty laundry on it. Slipping his hand into his tight jeans pocket to grab a handful of quarters, he winces at the slight burn of his chaffed fingers. He squeezes the coins in his hand as Logan walks slightly forward. "How does this work? And is Erin seeing anyone?"

There he goes again.

"You put a bunch of quarters in the machine, open up that round thing, put your shit in it, close the round thing, press some buttons and then wait," Kendall explains in a heartbeat, his voice monotonous while doing the actions swiftly himself. He turns to see Logan's nod of understanding but all he gets is a blank look.

"Here, let me do it for you..." the plaid-shirted boy says in a comically slow voice, and he grabs the brunette's hand, turns it over so his palm faces upwards and drops a few warm coins into his hands. Logan watches, entranced, and a little bit frightened, Kendall thinks. He curls Logan's fingers up so it's clenched around the quarters. "There. You have money."

Then, he puts a hand on Logan's back, shoves him to the other unused machine, and guides him to push the coins into the slot. "Your money… is now… in the washing machine."

Logan tries to speak up and almost murmurs something like "I can do it Kindle" but Kendall grabs the basket of the other boy's clothes briskly and throws them all through the round hole, into the washing machine. He sets the empty plastic basket down on top and looks to Logan, his eyes a hard jade colour. "Your clothes are now also in the washing machine. Congratulations."

He presses a few buttons on the side of the washing machine with so much force that one of the buttons gets lodged, and in anger he bumps the side of it with his hand, rolling his eyes. _Is Erin seeing anyone? _

"Your clothes, Mr. Henderson, are now being washed as you can observe by the clockwise turning of water, detergent and your clothes," he says, crossing his arms and staring Logan down. "You've now learned how to have clean laundry in New York, one of the grittiest states in the world."

"Kendall…" Logan whispers, his eyes boring deep into Kendall's ones, trying to find some better soul or something.

"Are you going to ask me if Erin's single?" Kendall says, his voice raising. "Here, Logan, let me enlighten you. Erin isn't single. She doesn't have a boyfriend. She isn't looking. She has a girlfriend named Katelyn and they've been dating since freshman year. They live together on the sixth floor and Katelyn works at a bakery. She steals muffins everyday and brings them back for us.

"Erin's mom disowned her once she found out she was a lesbian. That's why she lives with her aunt. Ever since then Katelyn and Erin have spent less than six months in one city, but they've been here for more than a year now and I don't know why."

_Logan's face is a literal colon capital O right now._

"So, yeah, Logan, Erin's not single, she has Katelyn. Don't even try."

The boy receiving the long angry rant from Kendall looks at him with pursed lips, his eyes darting back and forth in frantic thinking. Kendall sighs, his fists still clenched in pent up fury he hasn't fully let out yet. Erin assumes that she's on good terms with him, but that's all a pretense. If given the chance he'd never have spoken to her that first day.

Logan murmurs, "Does your anger have to do with Erin's sexuality… or… something?"

Kendall's fists unclench.

* * *

><p>4.55pm, a long time ago, Kendall's apartment<p>

"_We need to talk about this, Kendall. You can't just evade what you've been feeling," Erin said warmly, sitting down next to him on his couch and putting his hand in hers._

"_I'm. Not. Feeling. Anything. I don't need you coming in preaching to me about how it's okay to be gay because I know it is. And I know I'm not." Kendall turned away from her, glaring into the distant kitchen. Just because Erin was dating that Katelyn girl, just because she was more experienced there, didn't mean she could just go up to Kendall and tell him that he was gay. It didn't work like that._

"_Really, Kendall, really? I was in your bedroom just now and I found pictures of Curt and you lying on the bed. And the letters he wrote. Everything that the both of you shared, why did you dig it all up, huh?" she then said curtly, with an undertone of motherly care._

"_Curt… was nothing. It was high school. I was bicurious. He's back in Kansas and that meant nothing to me, alright? It was a phase."_

"_Then why did you take it all out again?"_

"_I was going to throw them away."_

"_If they meant nothing why would you even be taking the trouble to specifically throw them away? Kendall, you know yourself that what happened between you and Curt those three years during high school was nothing to forget about. You can't just shrug it off as, like, a step into the other side or something. You know that the spark was there, the same spark I feel with Katelyn. You can't just keep hiding from this."_

"_Jesus Christ, Erin!" Kendall shouted, standing up and turning to face her, his jaw set and his eyes blazing with irritancy. "I'm only here because everything back home sucked and this felt like the one place I could do what I love, okay? I don't need you to send me on some big fabulous gay adventure to discover if I really did love Curt, that's something you don't need to remind me of. Just because your mother disowned you and you're all on your own too doesn't make you the same as me. I have more things to worry about. But my sexuality doesn't fucking matter right now so stop trying to make it matter."_

_Erin looked up into Kendall's eyes, her eyes welling up with tears and growing big._

"_Aunt Challen's got cancer. Tell me if you're the one with more problems."_

* * *

><p>Kendall looks over to Erin, but she's paying no attention to him, folding a blue T-shirt and lost in her own little world. <em>I hope her lesbian powers don't include mind-reading.<em>

"I loved Curt. I really did. That's all," Kendall says, his lips not moving much.

And that concludes their day at the laundromat.

Logan gets home without Kendall, and the moment he closes the door he drops his washed clothes on the floor and runs to his bedroom (or lack thereof), facing the wall piled head to toe with Kendall's old things. He charges head first, pulling out flimsy cardboard boxes, twitching his nose at the dust, his eyes searching wildly for a name. Curt.

_There has to be something here. Something that could help me get closer to him. Anything._

There's a cardboard box with four thick yearbooks from Kendall's high school, with little pieces of paper sticking out of it and a lingering smell of alcohol – though that might come from the apartment itself. There are cheesy decorative photo frames, with feathers and little beads attached to the sides. The photos in them are brown, disintegrating away, but Logan can make out a young Kendall, an older man, woman, and two other boys. His family.

Kendall looks genuinely happy with himself in that picture. Nothing like his worn out self now.

He sighs and continues to run his fingers across the little creases in the cardboard, cursing that not all the boxes are labeled. He repeats the name in his mind over and over again, waiting to hit some kind of jackpot. _Curt_.

At the very bottom, peeking out from under a few stacks of old magazines, is a browned piece of paper, and a little name scribbled at the corner. "To Kendall, from Curt." From where he was, Logan could only pray that there was something inside that envelope – if he didn't find one he would genuinely cut a bitch. He was so close to finding the reason why Kendall was so upset all the time and so close to being able to be his friend, to find something to connect with.

Logan braced himself and used his left forearm to keep the other cardboard boxes from falling as he yanked out the letter. Dust billowed out and he coughed, scrunching his face and shaking it. "Jesus, that boy really doesn't know how to live safely."

When he was sure the cardboard boxes wouldn't fall over and swallow him and bring him simply walking into Mordor, he sat down against the bed. God knew how long or short that letter was. Or how important it was. But all in all, it was something between Curt and Kendall. It would help.

Logan pulled the letter out of the envelope.

* * *

><p><strong>I urge you to leave a review containing what you thought of this chapter and also "OH MY GOD WILL YOU UPDATE FUCKING FASTER YOU BITCH" or something along those lines. <strong>


	5. Cemeteries of London

**Sorry. No... really. I'm terrible. Actually going to advise you to read the chapter before cause you probably forgot what goes on in it. Shoutout to Dany for helping me with this, you the man. :o)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Logan hesitates. This letter is so private; he's been here less than a week and already he's looking into things that aren't his own, prying into other people's business… all because he wants to find a connection with Kendall. Wanting a friend in this big city has never made him this desperate before and yet here he is, almost reading a letter between Kendall and his high school ex.<p>

"I should find this connection naturally or… something. I should talk to Kendall," he thinks to himself, considering his options and brushing his fingers gently over the paper. The faded blue ink's seeped through from the other side and spread, web-like, into the paper. The yellow's unusually bright, a complete contrast to the brown objects around the room. Had it not been hidden Logan would've only taken moments to find it.

"But I care. I wanna help. And oops, this letter just fell out of the shelf and onto my bed by complete accident and I thought it was for me!" Logan says in an unusually high pitched tone. And he opens the paper, as creases form on the part he forced his thumb on. The letter's shorter than he imagined.

_Dear Kendall,  
>I'm sorry. I really am.<br>- Curt_

* * *

><p>3.40pm, Wednesday, back in Kansas in high school<p>

_"You're leaving for New York once we graduate? Why? Did you get accepted into NYADA or Julliard or something?" Curt asked questioningly, chuckling on the last bit. He could never imagine someone like Kendall - shaggy hair, loose plaid shirts, fluctuating grades - to end up somewhere so classy like NYADA._

_"I think things out there might be better for me," Kendall muttered, refusing to make eye contact with Curt as he fiddled with his thumbs._

_"Wichita's your home, Kendall. You've got your family, your friends, your entire life is laid out for you here. It's going to be so much more harder in New York, you won't know anyone and you might just feel… lost, Kendall." Curt reached over to intwine his fingers in the blond's, who reacted quickly and pulled away._

_"But you're here."_

* * *

><p>Logan frowns. "Big fucking help that was." He sighs and gets up, leaving the note on the bed. Kendall still isn't home and the rain's begun to pour, the sky cracking every few moments with thunder and splitting with white lightning. Logan groans, wide awake and without anything to do.<p>

Maybe Kendall left to go see that friend who he took a shirt from Logan to go see.

He opens the fridge by habit only to realize there's absolutely nothing appetizing in there, as Kendall has already forewarned. He sighs, as he's done ever so often the past few days, and returns back to his bedroom, suddenly hit was a strong bout of fatigue.

"Haven't slept well at all since arriving…" he mutters to himself, grimacing as he lies down on the dusty bed, the note next to him. Letting out a long yawn, he stretches before resting his head down on the pillow and allowing his eyes to drift close, sleep embracing him like an old friend.

* * *

><p>Kendall comes home, somewhat calmer but drenched from head to toe, and stands at the door hesitantly, thinking of what to say to Logan. He feels bad just leaving him hanging like that, but Logan should never have pried.<p>

He tilts his head curiously at the basket on the floor, water dripping from the edge of the strands of hair. "You'd think he would've arranged everything in the closets by now," the blonde thinks to himself, sensing that something is amiss. He walks over to Logan's bedroom, even more surprised by the fact that the door is ajar. _God, don't tell me he's one of those creeps who sleep with the door open._

Nudging the door as it creaks, Kendall steps in, nerves pouncing out at him from every fissure of his body. He's shivering slightly, cold from the rainwater, and his sweater outlining his body and a shade darker. If Logan were to wake up and see him standing there at the entrance of his room, he'd scream and throw shit at him. He scans across the entire room, finally realizing how dusty and cramped it is, and so a wave of guilt washes over him as he looks down at the brunette boy with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, sound asleep.

He walks closer, and notices that Logan keeps twitching his nose. The dust. Shaking his head and going "You're a terrible person, Kendall" to himself over and over again, he waves the air frantically, holding his breath to keep in a sneeze like it could kill everyone. That's when the yellow letter next to Logan's head catches his eye.

"He didn't…" he whispers, picking up the letter and unfolding it. He reads through the words again and winces as the memories come flooding back. All those memories that he was forced to forget when he saw those five words Curt sent him. When he met him in freshman year, when they ditched biology class together, when they got wasted together for the first time, when Curt revealed his feelings, when everything seemed like it couldn't get better. Then things got complicated, Kendall made a rash decision, he moved to New York. His heart, in the most cheesy way possible, was broken, and moving out to a state all the way in the corner of the country, a state where nobody really cared who you were or what you did or what you do now, seemed like the most positive solution.

Snap out of it, it's been three years. Kendall blinks tightly again, gripping the letter in his hands and groans quietly. He'll never get over it. He throws the letter down onto Logan's exposed hip and rams his fist against the bookshelf, as dust billows out and he's overcome with this great surge of fury. The anger's always piling up; Logan is nowhere close to the reason he's going to yell at him. More so his past, his privacy. Nevertheless Kendall can't help but vent it out on the nearest bait. His roommate sighs gently and his eyes flutter open, as he makes out the figure of the infuriated blonde. Kendall watches, black pupils outlined with an unusually dark green iris, while Logan exhales loudly and heaves himself up so he's sitting on the bed and looking up tiredly into those eyes.

"You fucking looked through my stuff," Kendall grits his teeth and mutters, his eyes representing flames dancing with vehemence as his hands tremble.

Logan loses the fatigue immediately and he stands up, raising his hands in surrender. "I d-don't know what you're talking about, the letter must've fallen out of the shelf onto my bed, I-I thought it was for me…"

"You know damn fucking well what you did. This was hidden way at the bottom, there's no way it could've fallen out onto your damned bed."

Logan winces as Kendall's constant cussing hits a soft spot in him, d's and f's always over pronounced. He suddenly regrets standing up, because now he's looking straight into Kendall's eyes and never in his life (except maybe the other times he argued with Kendall) has he felt so intimidated.

"Okay, okay okay okay, I looked through your stuff. I was curious and I really shouldn't have but I didn't know how else to get to know you and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the words spill out as Logan crumbles under the pressure of the taller boy's stare.

What Kendall does next, no one dares to speak of again.

He lets go of the note and grips Logan by his shoulders, digging his fingernails in, and steers him against the bookshelf, as the Texan's back connects with the wooden shelf and books come falling down, all in a split second. Logan grunts and Kendall pins his shoulders back against the shelf, failing to register the amount of fear reflecting on the other boy's face. His nose lies an inch away from Logan's and his hot breath is down on his neck. There's no way to differentiate pure sexual tension from anger at this point but Kendall can't undo the fact that he just shoved his new room mate against a hard wooden bookshelf.

He inhales and exhales loudly, boring his eyes into Logan's ones with the wrath of some angry titan. The victim gulps, Adam's apple bobbing up and down and garnering a discreet stare from Kendall. "Don't," he starts, voice shaking with fury as he tries to stay calm, "you ever… do that… again."

"Or you're fucked!" he shouts into Logan's face, fingernails digging into his shoulders. But within a split second of noticing the look of terror plastered on the fellow grown-up's face, the taller boy regrets what he's done. He knows there's no point apologizing, though.

He steps away from Logan, hiding his regret, and walks out of the room without turning back. His fists are clenched and the veins in his arms protruding. He's mad at himself.

* * *

><p>Kendall stares down at the worn out piece of paper that's been in his wallet all these years. Not the one Logan read, a newer letter that holds information that might change his life. It's drizzling, and Kendall hasn't had a single chance to get himself dry, but he doesn't care anymore. The weather matches his mood.<p>

The letter has an address; paired with that address is this note:

_Kendall,  
>I've moved to New York. Not going to find you cause you might not want me to, but I work at The Coffee Crew from Monday to Thursday, 12 to 7pm. If you ever want to talk and get things cleared up, I'll be there.<br>- Curt_

It's now or never. Three years, he's kept this letter with no intention whatsoever of deeming the information in it useful to him, but he's never forgotten it. Then once Logan just stumbles into his life oh so casually, he needs to dig up his past and get the closure he's only realized he never got. Fucking Logan.

Kendall walks past Central Park, hands stuffed into his front pockets, head hung low. In contrast, in the distance families are sitting on picnic blankets, laughing to themselves as children run around chasing each other in the rain. A teen boy and girl are seated on the swing set, smiling like nothing even matters. People in tracksuits are walking their dog. _All this cliché stuff is real._

He rolls his eyes and runs across a road, ignoring the annoyed shouts of several pissed cab drivers. "Watch it, moron!" He rolls his eyes again. He's not in Kansas anymore.

There's the place he's been avoiding for so long. Teak walls, a flickering neon sign, rattan tables outside, tinted glass walls, and a menu written on with chalk. The people inside, that's what counts. Taking in a deep breath, Kendall winces and braces himself for what's to come. He's never been this emotionally vulnerable. He pushes open the glass door, activating the windchimes. His breath then hitches before he can even survey the place.

There's a boy, wearing a teal apron, a white button down and jeans, and he looks just like everyone else who's ever worked here. Bent over a table, wiping it until he can see his own reflection. His own faint turquoise eyes, brown hair, straight teeth, pink lips. He hears the windchimes and his head snaps up to see the new customer.

Hands close to his chest, stuffed in his pockets, biting on the inside of his cheek in anxiety, eyes fixated on this person he thought he'd never ever see again.

"You found me," Curt whispers.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't expect the next chapter any time soon unless I don't get writer's block midway writing it, sigh. Reviews and angry capslock screaming is always welcome.<strong>


End file.
